


A Little History

by NeonPistachio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Growing Old Together, M/M, Young Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: Two celebrations.





	A Little History

‘’M _really_ sorry Mycroft, I just don’t think I can get the time off.’

Even with the scratchy phone line, Mycroft can make out the distress and regret in Greg’s voice. He doesn’t let on that he can hear, swallows down his own disappointment until his voice comes out evenly. 

‘Do not worry, Gregory, it is of no matter. Concentrate on your training and I will see you when you next have time off.’

Greg isn’t convinced. ‘But it _does_ matter! This is a big thing an’ I wanted to be there for it!’

‘Gregory, I shall have all my family here, I will not be alone. It’s fine, and we can have our own celebration when I am next in London.’

‘Suppose.’ Greg still sounds miserable and unconvinced. ‘Still feel bad, missing your graduation after you sent me a ticket an’ all.’

It takes a further ten minutes to convince Greg that Mycroft will be fine, really doesn’t mind, will see him soon. When Mycroft hangs up the phone, his hand doesn’t shake as he puts the receiver back in the cradle. He opens the door to the booth in a controlled manner. Walking down the hall to his room, no one could possibly tell there is anything wrong. He passes Simmons on the way, acknowledges him as politely as usual. It’s only when he gets into his room that he allows his veneer of perfect poise to drop.

He leans back against the door he’s just closed, drops his head. His brother isn’t speaking to him since their last fight over Sherlock’s drug use, his parents informed him two weeks ago that as he is an adult, he surely doesn’t feel the need for them to attend the ceremony and as such they are going away for a few weeks. He has barely any friends here, and those who do qualify are graduating right alongside him. His last remaining hope was that Greg could make it, at least for the day, but it seems that Hendon Police College aren’t keen on their trainees taking off to visit their boyfriends midweek. 

Not, Mycroft reflects, that they know Greg has a boyfriend. Not that anyone does; public and political opinion being what they are, neither Mycroft nor Greg can be open. If Mycroft wants a career in the civil service he will have to deny Greg and make a show of heterosexuality. He and Greg have come to terms with this, Greg being in a similar situation, but it doesn’t make things easier.

So. In the crowd of people attending the graduation, precisely none of them will be there to applaud his achievements specifically.

Two days until he walks across the floor to accept his accolades from four years of hard work, and he’s not looking forward to it at all.

 

*

 

Standing in his academic robe, mortarboard concealing the hair he has always considered to be an unfortunate colour, Mycroft feels as poised as he’s going to get. There may not be anyone here for him personally, he may be dreading the comments afterwards from the likes of Featherstonehaugh and Wilson, he may feel that he really should have decided to graduate _in absentia_ , but he is a Holmes and he does not shy away from challenges.

He can hear, faintly from inside the hall, the sound of names being read, followed by the appropriate Latin declamations. Around him, his fellow graduates fidget impatiently. With his triple Masters in Mathematics, Politics and Philosophy he’s near the back of the list, and the collective nerves of the group are beginning to get to him.

He forces himself to detach, take a mental step back and remain calm. He ignores the muttered whispers surrounding him, nervous jokes and overconfident swagger. He thinks instead of the time, three days hence, when he will be back in the London house and free to see Greg.

He manages to distract himself well enough that it comes as a surprise when the person in front of him is lead, in and he realises that he’s next. When he’s ushered forwards, through the door of the hall and into the interior where the air is warm with the heat of hundreds of people, he feels nothing but calm assurance. The polite applause from strangers as he makes his way forwards is exactly as he expected.

What he did _not_ expect is the sudden piercing whistle that breaks his tranquillity. It’s followed by clapping, much louder than before, a single pair of hands giving a solo standing ovation accompanied by more piercing whistles. Whistles that Mycroft recognises, heart suddenly beating faster, relief and love crashing through him. _Greg!_

Beside him he can feel the Usher looking round in annoyance to see who is disturbing the proceedings, but Mycroft continues to face the front and the Chancellor before him. No matter how hard he tries though, he is unable to prevent his face from creasing into a smile.

As he steps forward to shake hands with the Chancellor, the man leans in. ‘Congratulations, Mr Holmes, and I applaud you in having such enthusiastic friends. Though perhaps in future, this is not the place, hmm?’

Mycroft shakes his hand and detaches, refusing to say more than ‘Thank you.’ He leaves the hall through the other door, back to where the rest of the graduates are milling round exchanging congratulations, handshakes and back slaps. 

As expected, Featherstonehaugh is holding court, expounding on his plans for the future. ‘Mother and Father came down for the day in the Bentley. They were suggesting I should take a bit of a European tour after graduation, see the sights, but I said I’d rather just go to the villa. Italy, you know. Then Father has a position open for me in the company, getting me ready to take over in a few years.’ His attention turns from his sycophants and latches on to Mycroft, a nasty gleam growing in his languid gaze.

‘I say, Holmes, who _is_ that oik you’ve imported? Rubbing shoulders with the common man, what?’ Smile poisonous, he raises his voice to carry further. ‘Parents couldn’t make it? I would have thought you could at least cart your druggie brother out to make a show, rather than having to outsource.’ 

Anger and embarrassment flair, but Mycroft refuses to let it show. He affects his most bored and unconcerned expression, replying as though Featherstonehaugh enquired in good faith. ‘No, I’m afraid they had a prior engagement. I was sorry to see that your father couldn’t make it either, but it must make family reunions a little awkward for him, having to conceal the fact that he’s conducting an affair with his brother’s wife and embezzling from the company at the same time.’

He smiles in a friendly fashion and turns away, sauntering off as though he didn’t notice Featherstonehaugh’s furious, brick red face and the gasps from those surrounding him.

There is a reception planned for after the ceremony but Mycroft doesn’t feel like attending. All he can think of is Greg. _Greg came, Greg wanted to see him, Greg made it!_

He heads back to his room, the one place Greg will know to look for him. He’s only visited Mycroft here a handful of times, but he should remember the way well enough. Better than having a reunion in front of all the other attendees; Mycroft isn’t sure he could stop himself from kissing Greg when he sees him, and that will not do.

He putters nervously round his room; he’s begun packing his things but there are still a few bits and pieces left out, items he will need for his last few days in halls of residence. In the end he sits on his bed, staring out of the window as he waits for Greg.

His mind turns inevitably to Featherstonehaugh’s comments about his family. It hurts that they didn’t bother to come, hurts a lot. He would have expected it from Sherlock given their antagonism over the subject of Sherlock’s drug use, but he hoped his parents would have buried the hatchet for a day. But things have been frosty between them since they discovered his sexuality. He hasn’t even mentioned Greg to them; he’s not sure he could cope with their snide comments about his boyfriend. 

It’s about half an hour before the knock comes on his door, Greg slipping in without waiting. ‘Mycroft!’ His voice is subdued due to the thin walls, but still exuberant.

‘Gregory!’ The sight of Greg’s beautiful brown eyes, always so eager to see Mycroft, goes a long way towards easing the hurt. They meet in the middle of the room, arms grabbing and lips connecting before any conscious decision has been made.

It’s several minutes before they are able to drag themselves apart; it’s been a while since they last met. Even then they don’t separate completely, arms still wrapped around each other, unable to let go.

Mycroft speaks first. ‘I thought you couldn’t make it. What changed?’ He hopes Greg hasn’t done something stupid to manage this feat, like outing himself to the Police College instructors.

Greg grins. ‘Told them it was my Grandmother’s funeral. Think they were a bit suspicious about it since Arsenal aren’t playing today, but they still let me go.’

Mycroft rolls his eyes. ‘Really Gregory, Grandmother’s funeral? You couldn’t come up with something better? How many of those have you had by now? No wonder they where suspicious.’

‘What? It worked. An’ I wasn’t going to miss this. Congratulations, Mycroft! Sorry, should have said that before. ‘M so proud of you!’ He kisses Mycroft again, and they lose more time.

When they surface once more, lying on the bed, Mycroft asks how long Greg’s staying.

‘Just today,’ Greg says apologetically. ‘Have to get going soonish, ‘ve got my bike an’ I need to be getting back.’

Mycroft is disappointed, of course he is, he’s missed Greg and he’s only going to get to see him for a short while, but he lets it go. Greg came, that’s the most important thing.

Greg hasn’t said anything about why Mycroft was sitting alone in his room instead of being out with his parents, and Mycroft is grateful. He knows that Greg knows things are fraught with his parents and he appreciates Greg not calling him on his lie about them attending.

‘It’s fine, I shall be in London soon and we may see each other more frequently.’

Greg cheers up at this. ‘Good, can’t wait. Will you be there by the weekend? Should have Sunday off.’

Mycroft nods. ‘That’s the plan; finish packing up here then leave for London in a day or two.’

Greg grins. ‘Well then, if this is gonna be my last time visiting you here, should give you a proper celebratory send off, yeah?’ His hand slides down Mycroft’s torso, and Mycroft is about to agree when a thought hits.

‘Wait!’

Greg’s hand freezes, and he looks at Mycroft in concern. ‘Something wrong?’

Blushing a little, Mycroft sits up. ‘Can’t get anything on this,’ he mutters as he pulls off his graduation gown.

Greg throws his hand over his eyes, giggling. ‘Yeah, bet that would lead to some awkward questions.’

Mycroft imagines it would, and so lays the gown carefully over a his desk chair away from the bed, leaving him in his trousers and sweater. He lies back down on the bed, leaning over to kiss Greg again.

‘Now, where where we?’

 

*

 

After Greg leaves, Mycroft goes to the small kitchenette to make himself some toast. The dining hall will not be serving meals tonight, the assumption being that everyone is out to dinner. He’s out of butter and jam, so eats it dry, sitting alone in his room.

For all that Greg managed to come, the day rings hollow. His family ties are stretched to the point where he’s not sure they can ever be repaired, his younger brother is threatening to descend into a dangerous addiction from which he may not be able to disentangle himself, and he himself is about to enter into a career where he will have to deny one of the basic pillars of his personality in order to be accepted.

He loves Greg. He loves Greg deeply, is still amazed whenever he sees this exquisitely handsome man waiting for him, eager to see him after time apart. And Greg professes to love him too, has sworn that he doesn’t mind the two of them having to hide their relationship, has promised that he only wants Mycroft.

But Mycroft can’t help but look to the future and see change on the horizon. Things will not be easy, not for a long time, if ever. Mycroft’s head says that the current feelings towards homosexuality will not last forever, that greater acceptance will come in the political sphere and Mycroft will one day be free to love Greg openly. His fearful heart cries out that it can never come soon enough, that Greg will leave him in order to date a girl and gain acceptance from his peers.

Mycroft lies back on his bed, toast forgotten, contemplating the future.

 

*

 

Mycroft wrenches his thoughts away from the memory, still clear in his mind after nearly fifty years. He looks over to his companion, clapping and whistling beside him with as much vigour as he had back then. This time, however, Greg’s not alone in his enthusiasm, John beside him clapping every bit as hard. Sherlock is more restrained, but Mycroft can still see the fierce pride shining through his haughty expression as he looks at Rosie, taking her bow on the catwalk.

The reception afterwards has much greater diversity of people than the one at Oxford so long ago. The eclectic fashion choices are as much on the graduates as the models, everyone decked in their finest for the Central St. Martins Fashion Graduate show. Rosie comes bouncing up to them as they stand sipping drinks. John immediately pulls her into a hug. ‘So proud of you.’ He kisses her cheek, and she pulls away, laughing. 

‘Thanks, Dad!’ Her eyes are sparkling, brimming over with excitement and triumph. Mycroft is not surprised; her collection of men’s formal wear has garnered as much attention for its perfect tailoring as for its unique styles.

Sherlock and Greg add their congratulations as well, then Rosie turns to him. ‘Well, what did you think?’

Mycroft hadn’t seen her collection, a jealously guarded secret, before tonight. He weighs his response carefully.

‘An interesting juxtaposition of classic and historical tailoring styles with unconventional materials. The formal masculine cuts in the more traditionally feminine fabrics was a thought-provoking statement. I especially liked the high-backed fishtail trousers in light corduroy with the piping down the outside leg, and the lace Oxford shirt. The overcoat in raw silk was also particularity successful.’ A second later he finds himself being hugged hard by an enthusiastic Rosie. 

‘’M so glad you liked it!’ She pulls back. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d find it a bit much.’

‘On the contrary, I was extremely pleased to see all my efforts to teach you about the proper appreciation of clothing has gone to such good use.’ He also knows that, has he disliked it, Rosie would have stuck to her guns and defended her creations. Mx Watson is nothing if not stubborn.

She looks sly. ‘I did think about asking you to model some of it for me, but Uncle Greg said your hip probably wasn’t up to strutting the catwalk.’

Mycroft turns a wrathful look on Greg, who grins unapologetically. Mycroft sighs. ‘I fear he may be right, my days of strutting the catwalk are behind me.’ Rosie dissolves into giggles, and Mycroft allows himself a small smile. ‘I may commission you to make something for me though, if you would be interested?’

‘Sure!’ Rosie grins. ‘Maybe some of those trousers you like, or I could do a full suit in lace to match the shirt!’

‘Perhaps something a little more restrained for myself. I’m not quite sure I’m up to gender-bending like that at my stage of life.’

Sherlock breaks in ‘Come now, brother mine, surely you don’t believe yourself too old for the challenge?’

‘Certainly not, brother dear, I will wear with pride whatever Rosie makes for me. But why should I be alone? I am certain Rosie could make you something to replace that rather elderly Belstaff of yours.’

Greg breaks in before it can descend into bickering. ‘Oi you two, give it a break. It’s Rosie’s night tonight.’ He turns back to Rosie, giving her a one armed hug. ‘Well done again, love, that was really impressive.’ 

‘Thanks, Uncle Greg.’ She hugs him back then catches sight of someone over his shoulder. ‘Oh, ‘m just gonna go say hi to Chia for a second. See ya.’ She darts off again.

 

*

 

They don’t stay much longer; Rosie will be there for a couple of hours yet but she won’t want them cramping her style whilst she celebrates with her friends. They separate outside the venue, Sherlock and John off in a taxi to Baker Street and Mycroft and Greg back to their flat in Mycroft’s car.

‘That was good,’ Greg says as the driver eases through the London streets, back to their flat.

‘Indeed. Rosie is very talented, and I believe she has the drive to succeed in a difficult career.’

‘Mmm,’ Greg agrees, then falls silent. He speaks again a few minutes later. ‘Where did you go, at the end?’ Mycroft looks questioningly at him, and he elaborates. ‘When Rosie came up to take her bow, she was looking at you, but you were miles away.’

Ah. ‘I was thinking about my own graduation,’ Mycroft confesses. 

‘Ah,’ Greg says. ‘Bit of a difference, if I remember right.’

‘Just a bit,’ Mycroft agrees. He reaches over to clasp Greg’s knee. ‘But even if, unlike Rosie, I did not have my family, I had you.’

Greg’s eyes are shining as brightly as they did after Mycroft’s own graduation. ‘Still do have me. Not planning on going anywhere any time soon.’ His words are light, but his hand clasps Mycroft’s firmly.

‘Nor am I.’ It hardly needs to be said, but Mycroft does anyway. ‘I love you.’

‘An’ I love you too, creaky hip an’ all.’

Mycroft, who had been leaning in for a kiss, pulls back to glare at Greg. ‘Creaky hips, hmm? You’re one to talk, Mr Double Knee Replacement.’

Greg grins. ‘True, but I don’t have creaky knees any more. Working perfectly now.’

Mycroft’s glare intensifies. ‘I’ll show you what I can do even with creaky hips, Mr Holmes-Lestrade.’

Greg settles back into the seat, sighing happily. ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mr Holmes-Lestrade.’

Mycroft too settles back, thinking of home. It’s been a long, difficult road in the many years since he himself graduated, but Greg still professes to love him, and Mycroft still loves him back. Whatever else the future brings, Mycroft can rely on that.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in honour of my sister's graduation. I thought of the idea in the summer, wrote an outline, then promptly ignored it for about five month until I rediscovered it and wrote the thing in a day.
> 
> I couldn’t make myself watch the Youtube video of the full, hour long Oxford graduation in Latin, so some details may be a little sketchy. I also don’t know the time for leaving the halls there. Please excuse any university inaccuracies.


End file.
